|Our Lady of Shape Shifting (MeriMagic on Polyvore)|
Oh mistress of shapeshifting,
you come to us
in many guises. . .
as a lady in white floating above an oak tree
in the fields of Portugal,
with messages to shepherd children.
as an image on a highway sign in Sunnyside
in eastern Washington,
not once, but twice.
as a statue weeping blood
at a Vietnamese Catholic Church
in Sacramento, California.
People see you in the browning
of a grilled cheese sandwich,
in the hues of a plate glass window.
You told the young Bernadette
to dig and when she had done so,
you filled the void with healing waters.
Even now, over a century and a half later,
pilgrims flock to Lourdes,
seeking miracles of their own.
I don't seek your appearance
in an oil spot on a garage floor,
though you may well choose to do that
for the mechanic who needs a reminder
of the ineffable nature of faith. . .
Instead, I seek your company
as a feeling of rightness,
of comfort in the face of discomfort,
as acceptance of what seems unacceptable.
I listen for your voice to guide me
when I feel lost in a thicket of uncertainty.
Come to us
in the call of the birds returned home in early spring,
in the curling of smoke from a stick on incense,
in the giggle and froth of a river,
in the singing of stones in a temple at Abydos.
Come to us in whatever form
we will understand
as a whisper
as a gold-leafed image
or a warm breeze.
Just come to us.